Twisted Cravings (The Camorra Chronicles Book 6)

We were cutting it closer than I liked but Dad had insisted I stayed until the morning to grab a few hours of sleep before I took the private jet back to Salt Lake City. He’d tried to convince me to stay altogether. He knew I was taking part in the races and maybe even why, but he had trouble caging me in. Not because he didn’t have the means to do so, but because he worried what I’d do without my freedom and a purpose. He trusted I’d eventually return home, not able to go through with my goal.

It was almost 1 p.m. when Dima and I raced back toward camp. Dima hung in his seat. The right side of his face was swollen and blue, and those were only the marks I could see. Dad had him beaten for admitting to the truth about my mother. Guilt burned a fiery path through my insides. “Next time you don’t come back with me.”

“That’ll only postpone my punishment.”

“Then don’t do things that’ll get you punished for me. Maybe it would be best if you didn’t follow me on this path anymore. Stay away before my father punishes you worse.”

His expression was wounded. “I’ll protect you, Dinara. It’s my job, my desire.”

I sighed. We’d had that conversation before when I’d first decided to join Adamo’s races. Dima could be almost as stubborn as I.

We arrived at the camp. Most racers were busy tinkering on their cars, some of which were already set up in a sort of starting formation: ten rows of three cars each.

Last time Dima and I had to start in the last row because we were newbies but due to our good result in the last race, the first race of this circuit, we were bumped up into one of the middle rows. I hadn’t bothered reading up on the point system and rules in detail. I always wanted to be first, and for that, I needed to drive fast and risk everything. Easy peasy.

Adamo’s car was in the first row, naturally, together with a completely black car I’d butted heads with in the last race. Its owner was an obnoxious, tall rich kid from the suburbs of San Francisco.

I parked my car next to Crank’s trailer to ask for my exact position before I weaved into the grid. Dima heaved himself out of the passenger seat, clutching his left side with a groan.

“Are you sure you can race?” I asked worriedly.

“I won’t leave your side.”

“Looking like you do, I doubt you can keep up with the top drivers today. Seeing as tonight’s rest stop and tomorrow’s starting point is different for every car, depending on the distance they put behind them in the ten hours of driving, you probably won’t get the chance to stay near Dinara,” Adamo explained as he stepped down the stairs from the trailer. His dark eyes scanned Dima from head to toe, assessing every injury. Judging by the scars on his body, he could probably evaluate Dima’s injuries better than I did.

“I’m fine,” Dima gritted out, straightening fully. He and Adamo were the same height, too fucking tall for me. Even my biker boots with their thick soles didn’t change the fact that I had to crane my head back. That was the only reason why I missed my high heels.

Adamo shrugged as if he didn’t care either way. “Even if you are miles away from Dinara when the race ends, you won’t move your car another fucking inch. You hit the brakes at exactly four a.m. like all of us do, got it? And don’t try to cheat. We track everyone.”

Dima showed his teeth in a dangerous smile. “You’re too keen to get Dinara on her own, Falcone. Why is that, I wonder?”

“For no reason that requires your bodyguard services,” Adamo said with a hard smile.

I glanced between them. “I don’t have time for your bullshit. I have a race to win. What’s my position in the grid?”

Adamo motioned inside the trailer. “Crank’s got the list. You’ve got to ask him.”

“Go ahead,” I told Dima who grudgingly stepped into the trailer but before he disappeared inside, he growled. “I don’t like the way he looks at you. One day I’m going to burn his fucking eyes out.”

I gave him a hard look, and finally he disappeared.

“What did he say? It didn’t sound very nice,” Adamo said with a hint of amusement. He crossed his arms, accentuating the muscles in them. What maddened me even more than my body’s reaction to his assets was the fact that I wasn’t sure if Adamo was trying to tease them out of me on purpose.

“Maybe you should consider learning Russian. It’s always a good idea to know the tongue of your enemy.”

Adamo regarded me in a way that turned my body temperature up by several degrees, an experience I wasn’t sure I liked. “Are you an enemy, Dinara?”

I smiled. “That depends on the situation, I suppose.”

Adamo chuckled then he shrugged. “We have many enemies. I can’t learn all of their languages. Or do you speak French and Italian?”

My smile widened. “Of course. I had tutors who taught me French, English, and Italian, and at home, I spoke Russian.”

“Impressive,” Adamo admitted. “I only speak Italian and English, but my brother Nino is a walking dictionary.”

I distantly remembered the guy with the cold gray eyes, a hazy image from the past, but hard to forget like so many other images from that time. “My French teacher was never really happy with my pronunciation, but I speak and understand it fluently even if I don’t sound like a Parisienne lady.”

“You don’t look like one either.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Got a problem with my looks?”

Adamo’s eyes trailed the length of me, again lingering on my belly piercing. I’d noticed it before. Maybe he wondered if I had more of them hidden beneath my clothes. I had.“Absolutely not. Your looks are more than okay in my book.”

“Thanks. That’s the kind of approval I needed to feel valued,” I said sarcastically, but I had to admit I got a sick kick every time Adamo checked me out. I didn’t consider myself as ordinarily beautiful. My appearance with my red hair, freckles, and high cheekbones was too edgy for that.

Dima chose that moment to return. His eyes narrowed to slits as he stepped between Adamo and me. “I got our positions. We should start to prepare everything.”

“Mechanics will check if your cars abide by the rules and attach a tracker to your cockpit to make sure you can be punished or disqualified if you drive longer than allowed,” Adamo said, giving Dima a meaningful look, before he stalked away.

Dima glared at his back. “We’re next to each other in the starting formation. We should make sure to stay close together, even if one of us is faster than the other.”

I snorted. “No way, Dima. I’m sorry but I need to be among the first so I can stay close to Adamo. I need more opportunities to extract information from him.”

Dima leaned closer, searching my eyes. “Is this really only about extracting information? I’m not blind.”

“Tend to your wounds, or ask someone from the medical team for help. I need to prepare my car.”

I walked away. I had never been confronted with Dima’s jealousy. He hadn’t made a big deal when I’d ended our relationship, nor had he ever tried to win me back. Maybe he’d hoped I’d eventually return to him and now he saw his chances dwindling. I wasn’t sure but I hoped he’d get a grip soon. I needed to focus on my plan. I didn’t have time to deal with a crazy ex-boyfriend.

Weaving my Toyota through the parked cars and the mechanics, racers and pit girls scattering around them took almost fifteen minutes. I slammed my palm down on my horn so often that my hand hurt, but eventually I found the marked position. My car was in prime condition so I didn’t need to look it over again, and other than some racers I didn’t have a team of mechanics. Dima could repair almost anything and I was pretty capable as well.

Instead of wasting time on preparations, I leaned against my car and watched the busy crowd, soaking in their excitement and nervous energy. I’d only seen another female driver but she’d been in the last row. What a shame. More girls needed to trust themselves to play with the big boys. This wasn’t a sport that required muscles, only daring and cleverness, and that’s something women didn’t lack in comparison to men.

Beside me, a guy who looked Mexican leaned against his car. His body was covered with tattoos and he wore a black wifebeater to show them and his muscles off. Like Dima, his hair was in a buzz-cut, but his was dark. He flashed me a grin when he caught me looking. I didn’t return the gesture, only nodded. I wondered if the Falcones tolerated gang members or members of a cartel to race as well. They seemed pretty certain in their power over the west. I wasn’t here to make friends, and even less to flirt with random guys.

Adamo headed for me and leaned beside me. The guy lost his interest in me at once. “You ready?”

“Always,” I replied. “What I’m wondering is how the whole toilet-break business works. Ten hours is a long time.”

Adamo gave me a meaningful look.

I scoffed. “Don’t tell me there are no official toilet breaks.”

“There aren’t. You have to decide if you want to lose valuable minutes to relieve yourself.”

“Unlike you, I can’t pee into a bottle.”

“Trust me, even for guys it’s not easy to drive and pee into a bottle.”

I couldn’t help but laugh trying to imagine it, but then my mind drifted off, only conjuring up images of Adamo’s naked body. Not a good direction to take before a race. “So you really pee into a bottle?”

Adamo grinned. Whenever he did, he looked more like the dark surfer-boy and not the deadly Falcone brother. I wasn’t sure which side of him drew me in more. “Usually I allow myself one toilet break per race, at least in the first five races. The last two races, however…” He chuckled.

“I won’t pee into a bottle, but I won’t risk falling back just because my bladder is an issue.”

“Well, then maybe you should consider using a catheter. But I should warn you. A few very ambitious guys did last year and got a nasty infection.”

I scrunched up my nose. “That’s taking it a little too far.”Exclusive © material by Nô(/v)elDrama.Org.

“Not if you’re in debt with the Camorra, then you better find ways to get money.”

“Right. You and your brothers are really clever when it comes to making money.”

“I bet your father knows a few tricks as well.”

He did. But my father was better at putting up a sophisticated exterior, while the Falcones lived their madness openly. “With a race of this dimension, won’t we get into trouble with the police?”

“We might. That depends on the county we’re passing. Some are easier to control than others. A few sheriffs are definitely out to catch a few of us. And every year they succeed and one or two land in prison for a while. But like I said, mostly the police turn a blind eye to what’s going on. We mainly drive in remote corners of our territory, not to mention in the evening or night.”

“Then let’s hope we don’t get arrested today.” I pushed away from the hood when Dima’s car rolled toward us.

“I’m sure your father will bail you out if you do,” Adamo said with a shrug, but I didn’t buy his disinterest for a second. He was trying to figure out how much my father knew of me racing in Camorra territory.

“I don’t like to rely on others to save my ass,” I said. Dima was stuck behind a crew of five mechanics who were taking care of a car. I wondered how much funds you needed to have a team of that size around you. Money wasn’t an issue for me. Dad’s black American Express paid for everything and he never asked why I spent too much money, but I wanted to earn my expenses with prize money.

Adamo followed my gaze to Dima. “His ribs are cracked from the way he moves. He won’t be able to stick to your side if you don’t slow down for him. He’ll need breaks.”

“Dima is tough, and he knows I won’t slow for anyone. I can protect myself.”

“If you drive as fast as last time, you won’t have to. You’ll be at my side, and I can keep an eye on you during the rest hours.”

“How chivalrous of you,” I said. “But I don’t think I trust you, Falcone.”

He tilted his head, one corner of his mouth moving up. “Maybe you shouldn’t.”

I generally didn’t trust easily, even if Adamo didn’t strike me as a danger—for me at least.

I headed for the trunk of my car and pulled out a half-empty bottle of vodka and opened it.

“Drunk driving might make you reckless but not necessarily faster,” Adamo commented.

“I’m not getting drunk, but hard liquor dehydrates my body and makes me pee less. I won’t waste time on a toilet break.”

Adamo shook his head. “You stop at nothing to reach your goal.”

“That’s right.” For a moment we stared into each other’s eyes then Dima broke the moment as he got out of his car. Adamo strode away to the front of the grid where his car was.

My fingers around the steering wheel became sweaty as the minutes until the start trickled by. I’d never driven such a long race. It would be exhausting and explained why every year drivers crashed their cars without outward influences. Even a straight street can become a challenge if you’re too tired to keep your eyes open.

From my position in the middle of the field, I couldn’t see the pit girl with the flag but as long as the cars in front of me didn’t move, I was locked in anyway. It would take a while to reach a better position with more room. Soon the roar of engines rang in my ears and Viper vibrated under me. Dima gave me a warning look. He was worried but he had no reason to be. I could handle my car.

Dust rose up before me, cloaking the cars ahead as they drove off. My foot hovered over the gas and the second the brake lights of the car in front of me died, I slammed my boot down. Viper roared like a wild beast and then we were off. I had to slow almost instantly or risk bumping into the car in front of me.

A start surrounded by all these cars was madness, even worse than the last row.

Time lost its meaning as I fought my way past car after car. Night fell around us and soon the crowd dimmed around me. I wasn’t sure how many cars were ahead of me, except for the three I could see. One of them was Adamo’s BMW. The other was the black monster from the rich kid. The third belonged to the Mexican guy who’d started beside me. I hadn’t even seen him pass me by.

Dima was a few car-lengths behind me with three other cars. I wondered how long he’d be able to keep up. Maybe he could ignore his injuries after only an hour of racing but his pain would only get worse as the time passed.

My assumption turned to reality after five hours on the road. Dima started falling back and then he stopped. I thought he might need a toilet break but instead I watched through the rearview mirror as he bent over and threw up.

For a moment, my foot on the gas eased but then my gaze focused ahead again, on Adamo and the two other drivers in front of me. Dima was tough. He had been a member of the Bratva for almost ten years. He wouldn’t give up easily and a few cracked ribs were nothing.

After eight hours, even the cup of vodka and my lack of hydration didn’t stop my bladder from feeling full. My eyes burned and the road became blurry on occasion. The deep blackness where the headlights didn’t touch my surroundings only added to my body’s need for rest. But the distance between me and the three cars in the lead had grown and a break would put me even farther behind, not to mention that it would allow my two pursuers to catch up, or worse overtake me. Gritting my teeth, I tried to ignore the pressure in my bladder. To banish my exhaustion, I turned on the radio, blasting my favorite playlist of Classic Metal from the speakers. Welcome to the Jungle by Guns N’ Roses awakened my senses as usual.

Even music wasn’t helping anymore as the last thirty minutes of the race trickled by. My need to pee had turned to a painful throbbing in my lower body, and my back and ass were completely stiff from sitting. I hardly felt my fingers anymore. All I could think about was peeing and sleep.

My attention turned to one of the cars in the lead which was slowly falling back. When the last minute of the racing time counted down, it was only a car length ahead of me.

Adamo’s car. He’d actually slowed down to spent the night at my side. I wasn’t sure if I was flattered or annoyed. The damsel in distress wasn’t my favorite role. On the other hand, his company hadn’t been unpleasant, but so far we’d never been completely alone. And I realized that’s what we’d be tonight—alone—as I stopped the car at exactly four a.m.